


Owen and Makenzie

by pearlunderthesea



Category: The Archived
Genre: F/M, This work is inspired by Victoria Schwab's wonderful series!!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-08
Updated: 2015-08-08
Packaged: 2018-04-13 13:25:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4523721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pearlunderthesea/pseuds/pearlunderthesea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Twisty relationship with Owen and Makenzie</p>
            </blockquote>





	Owen and Makenzie

“Will you marry me?” Owen asked as if he was ordering food in a questioned manner. He asked me. Mackenzie Bishop. Me.   
He sat there, on my tub. Waiting for a response, fiddling with that knife. The one that tore Wesley's side apart. I can faintly smell the blood hands that dried on my palms. The way Wes lied there on the forbidden rooftop, gasping for breath.Why would he ask that? Why would he ask that question after all the things he tortured me with? After betraying me, after taking me in his grasp, kissing me then asking me this. I can still feel his silent noise. The way it washed over me like waves. I try and reach for the plunger aside the toilet, but he reaches it first, holding my arm up. I wince, pulling back.   
Owen comes closer, pocketing the knife.   
Walking over to me, I try to squeeze myself into the wall, hoping he won't touch me. Owen does, putting his hand on my cheek. I flinch. He slides his hand through my hair, grasping my neck and pulling me close. I feel his noise, but I hear nothing. Nothing. I hear his steadied breath. I try to push his chest away, and fail. He pulls me into a kiss.   
I remember this. This feeling of nothingness. The emptiness of his lips. Owen's lips.   
I push him away back to the tub, the company of his lips slowly evading mine.   
“Stop,” I say, gasping. “Why did you do that?” I ask him. I put my hand on his cool chest to balance myself, and keep him at a safe distance.  
“Why?" Owen scoffs. “Don't pretend that you didn't like it.” He responds smugly. I leap to my feet, grabbing his shirt, and pulling him close only to slam him back into the wall.   
“No,” I say through my gritted teeth.   
“What was that?" He mockingly asks. He shifts my hips closer to his. Putting his arms around my waist, pulling me closer and closer till I can feel his breath on me again. I try to push away this time, but this time he squeezes tighter. His hands lifting up to my ribs, his grasp strengthening. My hands fall to my side, his hold on me tightening.  
“No.” I repeat. “Stop playing games with me.”  
“I'm not playing any games, Mackenzie.” Owen says, his icy eyes look hurt, but his grip stays the same. Strong and overwhelming.  
“Stop. Just stop, Owen.” I plead. This is the first time I ask Owen to stop, without someone dying in my hands. Without Wesley next to me.   
“So we're on a first name basis, huh?” He retreats slowly, but his hold on me stays. Locking me in.   
“Don't flatter yourself, Owen.” I bark back in reply.   
“What would be the fun in that? M, I know that you think that I'm trying to trick you, but--” I cut him off before he has a chance to finish his sentence.  
“You're just trying to get to me through my secret love for romance? You hit the right spot, Owen. Me falling for the bad guy? Oh! So romantic.” I exaggerated purposefully, trying to make him angry. Trying to make him slip. I could probably take him if he slipped. He was never like the other Histories. Maybe that could be to my advantage. If he slipped. He didn't though, his dark pupils didn't consume his icy-blue eyes. He's too strong, and heartbroken for things like that to himself.  
“What are you doing, M? Why am I the bad guy?” He asks. He knew I was planning something. Something that I couldn't hide. But his eyes were different, they were somehow sincere.   
“What are you doing, Owen?” I answer his question with mine. “Why are you trying to destroy my life? Why can't you just go back to sleep? Why must I be in your plan to destroy the Archive?”  
He pushes me away, and I almost give a breath of relief to be free of his noise, but then he slams me back into the bathroom wall. Harder and more fierce than I did to him.   
“You know why, Mackenzie.” His elbow presses hard against my neck with every breath I take.   
“It's not my fault that your sister was killed, Owen.” I say. “Nor the Archive's. It wasn't the Archive's fault when Ben was, either. My Ben, Owen.” I hold back the tears of remembering Ben.   
“Owen, I know how you feel. The world took our brothers and sisters away, we should be angry as hell,but we should also understand that what they do--” Owen cuts me off.   
“They do it to protect the people in the outside? The people who we can't tell and share our feelings to? Don't you think it's time that we tell the people we love who we really are, Mackenzie? What we are?” I ignore his words that sting me with the memories of Ben.   
“No matter how angry we are, Owen, they can't come back. No matter how hard we try, we can't get our loved ones back.” I can feel the tears forming, but I push them back. “Please Owen... Try and think that your sister is in a good place. Forget who we are and think like someone who believes that there is such thing as a happy ending.” Instead of me crying, Owen does. “You can't hide your pain by marrying me, Owen. Besides, after all this time, you are still as young as the day you died. And I am still sixteen years old.” I let out a dry chuckle. His grip loosens, and I reach up wiping away his tears. I hold his face in my palm like he did with mine. Right before he kissed me. I won't kiss him. I won't kiss Owen. I will not. Before I fully persuade myself, he kisses me again. I don't even think about pushing him away. I kiss him back. I remember this, not his noise or his lips. I remember the feeling of not worrying about the future, about what might happen next. No, not worrying, the feeling of not caring. I remember meeting him, we sat together in the Narrows, feeling each other, our noises, our lips. Us. No one else. Not Agatha, not Roland, not Mom, not Dad, not even Wesley.   
Just... us.


End file.
